


It's Better to Light a Candle, than Curse the Darkness

by blackeyedgurl



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Character Death In Dream, Darkness, Dreams, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hope, Love, Love Confessions, Nightmares, Pain, Romance, Self-Denial, The love fern, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2719934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedgurl/pseuds/blackeyedgurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is left of Oliver Queen? Is there only the Arrow, or is there still room for him to be Oliver? Why fight if you can't fight for yourself, if in the end you can't have the girl? Or can he?</p><p>Spoilers through Draw Back Your Bow (Chapter One) and The Brave and the Bold (Chapter Two+)</p><p>Lots of Oliver angst and self torment, Diggle wisdom and eventual Felicity snark and love...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Curse the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OhMyGodBecky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMyGodBecky/gifts).



> Without Jennygirl7 none of this would have been possible. She is my Russian Island/Ship/Submarine Beard, my Bad Hong Kong Wig, my Love Fern, my sister in silliness. Two by Two, Hoods of Blue.
> 
> The first chapter takes place immediately at the end of Draw Back Your Bow.
> 
> This is my first Arrow fic, so please be gentle, but I would love some feedback!
> 
> Readers are always welcome to add any of my fics to their rec lists! I'm on tumblr as ladybast reach out and make a new friend!

Oliver Queen had been stabbed, electrocuted, shot with all manner of projectile, beaten, tortured, poisoned, witnessed more than one homicide of someone he cared for, watched his father blow his brains out, watched helplessly as Tommy died, buried Sara and lost his father's company all in the span of 7 years. In less than 7 seconds Felicity Smoak inflicted the single most painful experience to date. 

He wanted nothing more than to be alone right now. He needed to be alone, to be the Arrow. He told Diggle to leave, and he did, but not before saying something _why could no one leave his presence without the goddamn last word?_

“How's the view up there?” Diggle asked, putting his jacket on.

Oliver stared at him, he was sitting at the table, hand in a bowl of ice water, just as he had been not 5 minutes ago when he told Diggle to leave. He tilted his head, “What?”

“Climb off the cross Oliver, there's no point in saving the city if you can't even save a piece of yourself for her.” He flipped his keys in his hands and headed up the stairs without another glance in Oliver's direction.

Solitude. Peace. Quiet. Quiet shattered as Oliver swooped the bowl of water off the table, through the air, feeling satisfaction as the ceramic object shattered into a hundred pieces. Shattered on the corner of one of the very expensive 32” LCD screens that Felicity treated like priceless objects.

“Fuck.” At least he didn't hit the fern. She'd really kill him if, well, it didn't matter. She'd have to acknowledge him to kill him and she'd barely done that lately.

Pieces. He picked up each of the pieces. He eyed them, could he glue it back together? Sometimes the pieces break in ways that can never be put back together. 

He had lost pieces of Oliver Queen all over the world: some had been shot from his bow, others fell off of him like leperous appendages: a punch here, a stab, a kick, the thick pull of a trigger. It felt like there were fewer pieces left to lose lately. After Tommy, his mother and Sara died, it felt like he may have buried some parts of him with them: the best friend, the doting son, a lover. He knew he buried innocence and faith in humanity on that island. His compassion was lost somewhere in Hong Kong, and he was sure somewhere near Moscow there had to be pieces of his humanity.

He threw the shattered remains away in the trash can, where the pieces broke ever further. He understood this in a way that shook his soul.

He didn't even have the pieces of a normal life to try and stick together. He had them last year: a house to live in, a job to go to (albeit late, always), an alternate identity to reside in. Now, he had a bed in the guts of his sister's club. His clothes hung on a rod between two crates. His motorcycle was parked 50 feet from where he slept. And his bathroom? A renovated emergency shower from the plant and a toilet that was not friendly with the Starling City sewage district. 

When you don't have a real identity, can you still have a secret one? There was no reason to be Oliver Queen anymore. It dawned on him that Ray, Ray Palmer had basically taken over his previous life, so it made some sick logical sense to him that Ray would get the girl. Ray was living Oliver's life, and Oliver was hiding in a tomb under a dance club. It wasn't a life, it was a mission.

He secured the doors for the night and turned off the lights just as he did every night. It took a minute, but his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Night on the island was dark and silent, when he was there he longed for lights and noise. Once he got off the island, he learned to hate the neon and chaos of Hong Kong almost over night, even Moscow's old gas lit streets and solemn snow covered evenings were too much. The old house in Starling City was quiet at night, it was far enough outside of town to be surrounded by nothing but the sounds of nature at night. Now, he relished the empty foundry's inky depths and silence after the dull thud of the bass ended for the night. He moved across the space easily, and made it to his bed. The bed she insisted on, the bed she picked out, the sheets she bought for him and switched out to launder even though he argued with her for the better part of an hour about his ability to do laundry. 

He loved and hated that bed at the same time. It was more than comfortable, it was luxurious, and he didn't deserve it. He wasn't good at comfortable any more. That was Oliver Queen, not what he had become. Still though, a man has to sleep, and if he didn't try now, he'd be suiting up and prowling the Glades looking for anyone to pick a fight with. That wasn't going to end well for anyone tonight.

Like most nights, sleep wouldn't come easily. For once he hoped for dreams of the island, of Hong Kong, of Moscow, of anything but Felicity.

* * *

_It was unbelievably bright. The air around him seemed to glow. He was warm, happy, and content._

_He heard a familiar sigh and looked to his left. She was there, just as she always was. Her glasses were missing, her hair tousled by sleep, looking up at him from her pillow._

_He knew this dream well enough for it to be a second life._

_“I didn't get you room darkening shades for you to not use them.” She grumbled at him, covering her eyes with the sheet._

_“I like the sunshine.” He beamed at her._

_“I told you that spending all that time in the foundry basement was going to lead to a vitamin D deficiency, and now, you are crazy for sunshine, I think the deficiency has gotten to your brain.”_

_“It helps me wake up.”_

_“Most people use alarms, not the cruel brightness of the sun.”_

_“It's nature's alarm.”_

_“Did you learn that on the island? Is this an island thing?” She asked._

_He wraps his arms around her, burrowing her to his chest._

_“Please Oliver, just get up and close the blinds so we can go back to sleep.”_

_He can't move. She starts to shift in his arms. The paralysis causes him to loosen his grip. He can't breathe._

_The dream has changed. This is new._

_“Seriously, you're going to have a vitamin F deficiency if you don't get up and close the blinds.” She won't let it go._

_Overwhelming dread. He can't go back to the dark. He just got comfortable in the light. He can't take her to the dark._

_She pleads, he refuses. She begs, he is unable to move._

_She does. She gets up, smiling at him, and skips over to the shades. And then it's all slow motion._

_She closes the far shade, then the middle one, halfway through the last one, the one that feels so close he should be able to reach out and touch her, the man in the hood appears. It's a green so dark it's black. Oliver tries to move, the man raises his bow._

_“OLIVER QUEEN, YOU HAVE FAILED THIS FELICITY!” The man bellows._

_She laughs and looks at Oliver with a quizzical look. She laughs until the first arrow enters her chest. Then she screams, and screams as the next three arrows strike in rapid succession._

_His view changes, he can see the bed, his place is empty. He can feel the weight of the bow in his hand, the hood on his head, and he can see her. As she falls she takes the shade with her._

_All he sees before the darkness takes him is blood._

* * *

He wakes up screaming.


	2. It's Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Bold and the Brave Oliver knows what he has to do. He has to reclaim his life.
> 
> His new mission? Save Oliver Queen.
> 
> How? Felicity, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. I said this would be 2 chapters, but, I'm wrong. I think it might make it to 4. Thank you so much for reading my first foray into the world of Arrow!!!
> 
> Again, a big thanks to JennyGirl7 for being my beta.

Barry, the Little Vigilante That Could, correction: the hero, superhero even, had pulled him from the precipice. From the ledge of a cliff, that had he truly gone over, he would not have been able to come back from. A fall too far, a landing so distant that no one would ever recover the remains of Oliver Queen.

Diggle was right. Barry was right. He was the last Queen, the last of his bloodline. His father didn't only want him to survive the island, to save the city, he wanted him to save the family, for Oliver, the man, the person, to survive. He wanted him to live, to thrive, as a man, not a monster. If he didn't, none of what he did would matter. It would all be the hollow, empty gestures of a broken bitter shell.

He had a light, a burning candle, a star to guide him home. But still, something within him stirred, _you will not let her bring you into the light, you will drag her down to your darkness, you will snuff her out._ He had to ignore this voice. He had to let it go, but not her.

The time in Central City, the time spent with Barry's people, it helped him to remember who he used to be. He laughed, genuinely laughed, and smiled, and all of it felt good. He talked to other human beings about more than justice, or war, but of life. His humanity was still there, he could still be the better version of himself he became when he came home. He didn't want to be the old Oliver Queen, that guy was a douche.

Words. Words were not his friend. He wasn't good with them, he was smart enough now to think before he spoke, and sometimes, he thought too much. Words wouldn't work for this, for him there were always too few, for her, an overabundance.

He needed to show her. He needed to do something. His new mission? Save Oliver Queen.

* * *

The phone in his pocket vibrated. A new text from Thea.

“It's done, you're welcome :P”

He tapped out a response: “Thea, I owe you one.”

Bzzzzt “You owe me way more than one, but I gotta say, I think you nailed this.”

He smiled. Thea was too good to him. He needed to do something nice for her. She was the only one who didn't know his secret. She was the only one who thought he was only Oliver. He would work on that plan later, instead he had a ball to get rolling. 

If he were feeling truly selfish, he would have asked Thea if he could use her shower. His shower worked, but the water was lukewarm at best, and today, of all days, he really longed for the comfort of a scalding hot shower. But the foundry shower would do. He was maxing out his self-imposed selfish quotient for the day already.

 _Keep it casual. Stay relaxed. Don't over think._ He kept repeating the same three lines over and over in his head. Trying to imprint it on himself, trying to recall what it felt like to be a person this came naturally to. Muscle memory and actual memory were two different things, muscle memory he had an abundance of, actual memory he was working on.

He dressed in his dark jeans, and a series of v-necks: tee shirt, light sweater. He couldn't stand anything too tight on his neck, he often felt like he was suffocating, something as simple as fabric could make him feel like he was full-bore being strangled. He shuffled his motorcycle boots on and sat on the bed. _Breathe._ He added another to his ever growing list of mantras.

He picked up his cell phone, Oliver's cell phone, not the Arrow's, and his hands trembled as he scrolled through the contacts. The icon next to her name was of Felicity deep in hacking, lower lip tucked between her teeth, a mask of concentration, a photo he snuck one night years ago when she was trying to get through the Merlyn firewalls. He loved her smiles, but he thought he loved her even more when she was an arrow, an arrow slicing through a wireless connection, penetrating through defenses, striking the information she needed. 

His finger hovered over the call button. He could text her. No, no he couldn't, he had to call. It was 5:32, late enough that by now she would have insisted that Jerry go home for the day. Late enough that Ray would have left to go to the gym, he was out of the office by 5:17 on average, and had recently stopped working out at the Queen Consolidated, err, Palmer Technologies gym. Early enough that she wouldn't have ordered take-out by now. Early enough that she wasn't packing up, steeling herself for her second job.

Since that night, the night he saw _them_ he had kept an eye on Ray. Clearly whatever happened that night hadn't been a topic of conversation between Ray and Felicity, in fact he appeared to be purposefully avoiding her. Oliver didn't have much to do during the day, so watching Ray, was an easy way to spend his time until the Arrow was needed. It wasn't stalking, that implied some level of need, this was intel. Something about Ray didn't sit well with him, he couldn't put his finger on the pulse of it though. A normal person wouldn't be gathering intel on the man who kissed his, he smiled, girl Wednesday, but Oliver wasn't a normal person. It wasn't jealousy, that's what he told himself, it was about protecting her, from what though, he didn't know.

He submitted. With each droning ring he felt a niggle of self-doubt. This was a bad idea, what was he thinking?

“Hello?”

“Felicity.” He steadied his breath, inhale, _draw back the string._

“Oliver?” She let out a little gasp, “Is something happening? Is there a thing?” He could hear her scanning her office to make sure she was alone. “Do you need me to come early? Come IN early?”

Exhale, _release,_ “What are you wearing?” As soon as the words left his mouth he groaned internally, was he actually channeling her?

She scoffed, “Excuse me?!?” 

“I need to pick you up, for something. I only have the Ducati, and you wear a lot of short skirts, and dresses, so...” He trailed off, _who was talking and what had they done to Oliver?_

“I have a car, I can just meet you,”

“No.” He cut her off. He tried to stave off the desperation in his tone, “There's no time.”

He knew the look that was on her face right now, confusion, concern, her eyebrows knitting together trying to ascertain what new danger or threat they were facing, “Oliver, what's going on?”

“I'll be there in ten minutes, I'll pick you up out front.” He hung up. He had to, before the verbal diarrhea struck him again. 

He grabbed his scarf and gloves, and shrugged into his leather jacket. December in Starling City was not Russia cold, but on a motorcycle, it could be biting. _I should have rented a car, she's going to freeze._ It was too late, he had to go. 

* * *

When he pulled up she was frantically pacing in front of his former building. Her phone was in her hand, no doubt she was scanning the 'net to see what happened, why this was so urgent.

The street lights flickered to life. 

She was so engrossed that she didn't hear him pull up. She pushed her glasses up her nose, pink lipstick coating her perfect pout. Her oversized handbag was falling off her shoulder. She was wearing pants, the salmon colored pants that hugged her ass like they were painted on. He knew that meant that under her winter coat, she had some sort of adorable blouse and cardigan combo on. Her heels were sky-high, as usual, he had no idea how she navigated the world in them, but had a strange respect for her for doing so. Her hair was pulled high in a pony tail, more than once he had imagined wrapping that hair around his fist and... _No, no this wasn't the time._

She looked up, he waved her over. He dismounted, and pulled the spare helmet from under the seat, thrusting it in her direction.

“Oliver, whatever it is, it hasn't hit the internet yet, so I think we're ahead of everyone else. I mean, I don't know what it is, but there is nothing terrible happening in Starling City right now, at least according to the denizens of the 'net.”

“I know.” Was all he said. He had to hold his tongue. He smiled at her, trying to reassure her. “Put this on.” He traded the helmet for her purse and placed it in the seat storage compartment.

She eyed him suspiciously. “I need you to trust me right now Felicity. Please.”

“O-okay.” Was all she managed, she was confused, but something about his demeanor calmed her. He knew she trusted him, he also knew he was terrible at lying to her, so vague was better. She pulled the helmet on as he straddled the bike.

“Um, Oliver, what do I?” She asked eying the cycle. He had never taken her on a bike ride. That was only something he had imagined. He had imagined it so often that he thought it was real, sometimes he had trouble separating his thoughts from reality. 

“Step here with your right foot, and swing your left over.” He pointed. She tried to comply but her heels betrayed her. His hands shot out and caught her, helping her into place. He started the bike and revved the engine, “HOLD ON.”

He felt her forearms snake around his torso hesitantly. “TIGHT,” he commanded. She pressed herself to him, squeezing her arms around him. He could feel her thighs sidle up behind his, her belly and chest were flush with his back. This was better than he imagined. 

“READY?” he shouted. He felt her nod, and tore away down the street, shifting gears rapidly, muscle memory never one to betray him. Her grip tightened, her body suctioned to his, his breath hitched, _this was so much better than he imagined._

The route was simple: take the side streets, avoid traffic. He knew the way even before the island, it's a route he'd traveled since childhood. Since his father erected his shrine to capitalism, since his mother would take him and Thea to see their father for lunch, since the first time his father took him to the top of the roof and told him that some day, this would be his, that this city would rely on him, that it would need him; the words meant nothing to a 12 year old boy, they meant everything to a 33 year old man.

She had been there a few times, but he knew that she hadn't been there enough to immediately realize where they were going. He was taking her home. Not hers, his. The home that he and Thea couldn't bear to live in without their mother. A house that sat empty, too large for a single man to call home. A massive enclave on the outskirts of town. The one thing that Isobel, Slade or Ray couldn't get in a hostile take-over. It was his inheritance. It was paid off, the taxes held in a massive, interest holding trust that would never empty, and which was untouchable. His father had foresight, the only thing that wouldn't be lost to the Queens was their castle. 

Just having the keys in his pocket made him feel like he was back on track. Her body pressed to his, the breath she held on every turn, the way her hips rebounded into him when the bike stopped, it was almost too much. A rental car would have been a better idea, but this could all blow up terribly in his face, this might be as good as it got, and that would be enough. Not for forever, but for right now.

Thea left the gate open for him, and he snaked the bike up the driveway like it hadn't been months since he had been here. This was the place he had to do this. It was the place where he first told her, it was the place he was going to show her. It was where he knew, most deeply and in his bones, what love was. 

He stopped in front of the door and parked the bike. As he sat up, Felicity didn't let go. He reached up to remove his helmet. He put his hands over hers and gently pulled them apart. 

“You can let go now.”

Though muffled by the helmet he heard her say “Can I open my eyes now?”

He let out a laugh, and twisted back to pull her helmet off. “Yes.”

“Ow, ow,” She reached up to her hair,” those things are NOT made for girls.” She pulled the tie from it, and hastily pulled it back up. It was crooked, and it was perfect.

He got off the bike and held out his hand. “Come on, I have to show you something.”

“Did a family of racoons move into the Queen mansion? That happened to a friend of mine's summer cabin, they went up one year and there were just racoons every where. They were sitting on the furniture like people!” She exclaimed as she got off the bike. 

“I don't know, Thea didn't mention any racoons, only something about bears...” he answered her seriously.

“B-bears? What?” She looked at him, astonished.

He grabbed her purse from the compartment, and turned to open the door. As he opened it, he looked in, and started laughing, “I was just kidding, there are no bears.” He said as he turned back to her. “Come on.”

She gripped her purse, and moved towards the door, “You first, just in case.” She nodded at him to go inside.

“Okay.” He complied and held the door behind him, she followed.

When she was inside, he closed the door. They were immediately cloaked in absolute darkness.

“You can't show me anything if I can't see.” 

He reached out and took her hand. “Just follow me.” He tugged her towards him.

He panicked for only a second. _You have brought her here, plunged her into the darkness._ But he knew this darkness was temporary. This was not the end. This was a beginning. A new beginning, and it had to start this way, in darkness. Once you know the darkness, only then, can you truly love the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes me write faster. Do you like it? Am I crazy? Should there be raccoons in the Queen Castle?


	3. To Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver needs to confess, he needs to tell Felicity.
> 
> So he does...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had meant to do things today, but then, this happened and I couldn't stop. The feedback and comments and kudos pushed me forward!
> 
> This one gets deep in the angst. I promise, the next chapter, will probably be all smut and fluff.

He lead her to the main room of the house. Every step reverberated against the walls, the house was empty, save the two of them. He could hear her every breath, he knew she was confused and swallowing each urge to make a quip. His heart skipped when she threaded her fingers through his, and put her other hand on his forearm.

He didn't want to but he flexed his hand open and let her go.

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because it'll be easier to adjust them, when I turn the lights on.”

“Okay, that makes sense, wait, where are you going?”

“15 feet away, to turn the lights on, I'm right here Felicity, I'm not leaving you.” He heard her let out a sigh of relief and took this as his cue.

Left. Right. Echoes cascaded through empty rooms. Rooms once filled with life, now, hollow, filled only with the sound of him walking away. _Stop it Oliver. Let it go._

He swiped his hand, turning the light switch on, illuminating the room.

Felicity opened her eyes. She was standing in the middle of the former living room. On one end was the fireplace, a neat pile of wood stacked outside of it. Centered in front of it 10 feet back was a blanket, and a low table, sitting cushions strewn around the floor, blankets in neat piles. The table was set for a meal, but no food was visible. She slowly panned the room. The only thing illuminating it was a massive Christmas tree, covered top to trunk in tiny white lights.

He looked at her, trying to get a read. She was smiling, not the broad beaming smile she revealed after a victory, the tiny smile, the little knowing smile, that he'd only ever seen her use around him.

“Oliver, I don't...”

“I know, you don't celebrate Christmas, but I wanted all of my favorite things in one place.” He walked up to her and turned her to face the fireplace and pointed above the mantel, “I did get you that.”

Centered atop the mantel was a beautiful, simple, silver menorah with 9 white candles.

He released her, rubbing his hands together, “It's cold in here. I'm sorry, we only run the heat to keep the pipes from freezing.” He dug the fire starter out of his pocket, it was the one he brought home from the island, the one he found in the cave when he returned to the island after his travels.

“I couldn't tell.” Was all she managed.  _Was the great Felicity Smoak dumbstruck?_

He crouched down in front of the fire place; a small pile of tinder and paper in front of him. He was striking the objects together, releasing a shower of sparks onto the pile.

“Most people just use a lighter.” She said walking towards him.

“Most people didn't spend years stranded on an island, without a lighter.” He said as the bundle started to smoke, he picked it up in his hands as if it were a fragile baby bird. Gently he blew on it until tiny flames began to consume the pile, he placed it under the wood already in the fireplace. He added small pieces of kindling until the fire took its own hold.

He sat back on his heels, watching the logs slowly catch fire. He had always loved fire. His mother once joked that he would grow up to be an arsonist after he took a stick from the backyard, stuck it in the fireplace and then proceeded to run through the house with a flaming stick. He lit a floor runner ablaze before he was caught. The burn marks were still there, he saw them the day they moved out. He wanted to show her, and tell her about them, to remember his childhood.

“Oliver?” Felicity quietly asked, “What is this? What's going on?”

Her questions broke his fixation with the flames, but before he could answer her, there was a knock at the door. She jumped.

“Calm down, that's dinner. Could you go get the door? I need to go grab the wine.” He stood quickly, and resisted the urge to kiss her forehead as she looked at him with mild bewilderment. “The food's covered, even the tip.” He touched her shoulder as he walked past her.

“Um, yeah, okay.” He could tell she was clearly thrown by all of this. Good. He needed her off balance, it was only fair to level the field. He couldn't be the only one who felt that way.

He heard her drop her bag by the hallway and walk to the door. He jogged to the kitchen, hoping that Thea didn't forget the wine. If all else failed, he could at least get drunk and lay under the Christmas tree.

On the counter were two clean glasses, a corkscrew and three bottles of wine. Propped up on the wine was a note, with “Ollie” scrawled across it in Thea's handwriting.

_Ollie,_

_I didn't know if you wanted red or white, so I got you both._

_One of the bottles is pretty gross, but I thought you should have it. After mom died Walter gave me a case of wine. He told me it was from when Mom and Dad got married, and that they saved the case for us. We each get 6 bottles, to spend on momentous occasions. Well, you only get 5 because Mom cracked one open when you came home. I thought it was appropriate to give you one for tonight, it's not everyday that my shut-in brother asks me to help him win the girl._

D _on't blow it, that's not pity wine, that's celebration wine and you only have 4 more bottles._

_Love, Speedy_

He folded the note and put it in his pocket. His little sister really was one of the best people he knew. How she ended up such an amazing woman was beyond him. He missed most of her terrible years, and stood by her through the most traumatic events of her life, and still, somehow, she was an eternal optimist. She had grown into a woman that any father would be proud of, even Malcolm Merlyn.

He grabbed the two new bottles, the glasses and corkscrew and headed back to see what fate had in store for him this time.

Felicity had put the containers of food on the table and settled on one of the floor pillows. Her coat was in a pile over her purse. Her blouse had tiny flamingos on it, her black cardigan was festooned with a flamingo brooch that reflected the light of the fire off it's facets and into the room. Only she could wear something as silly as flamingos and pull it off.

“Russo's doesn't deliver.” She said dryly as he set the glasses and bottles down. He pulled the corkscrew out of his pocket before joining her across the table.

“They do if you give them a sob story about how your first date with an amazing girl was ruined when a rocket blew up their restaurant.” He said casually, “Red or white?”

“Red.” She replied curtly while opening the food containers and trying to ignore him.

He opened the wine and poured them each a glass. “Felicity, I know you don't know what this is.”

She grabbed the glass and emptied the contents down her throat. “I'm getting a pretty good idea of what's going on here: roaring fire, floor picnic, wine. I've seen my fair share of romantic comedies.” He could see her anger beginning to take root. He had to do something, and quickly.

“Felicity, I want... no, I need a do-over.”

If looks could kill, he'd be dead. She stared at him in a way that made him think all of this was a mistake. _Idiot._ Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was a huge mistake. Maybe he really wasn't going to get the girl.

“Well, who am I to stand in the way of what Oliver fucking Queen needs?” _She never swears. This is bad._ She asked dumping salad on her plate and dropping the container on the table. She glared at him expectantly. “You've got until I finish stuffing this rabbit food in my face to explain yourself. And you only have that long because I'm starving.” She huffily bit into a piece of bread and continued to stare at him.

“Two years ago, when I fought Malcolm, he told me that he would always beat me because in my heart I didn't know what I was fighting for, what I was willing to sacrifice.” He paused and took a long swig of his wine, “When I beat him, it was because I was willing to sacrifice myself to save everyone else. I thought I was fighting for the city, for my friends and family, for Diggle, and especially for you.”

She stared at him, mouth full of bread, head slightly cocked. She resumed her chewing, unimpressed.

“I thought that sacrificing myself was the only way, and in some way I entered that fight never thinking I'd survive it. When I was on the Island, and even after, every time I had accepted my death as the inevitable outcome, the acceptable cost of any fight, I lived. I didn't think that luck had followed me home.”

He shifted, and looked to the fire. It was roaring now, consuming the wood, it's only restraint was how fast it could come into contact with more fuel. He channeled his focus, he needed to be the flame. He needed to burn all of this bullshit away, even if it meant there would only be ashes remaining.

“Do you remember when I got shot with the new Vertigo?”

She nodded. “It was supposed to show you your worst fears. I honestly don't know how that is something that would make a drug attractive. Like, what kind of person goes back for another dose of that?” She realized she was losing her resolve, “But you said that it didn’t happen, your magic island herbs sucked its power out.”

“I lied.” He said before taking another sip of wine. She was talking to him again, that was a good sign, _that musty bottle of wine might get some play after all._ “I saw my worst fear.”

Her face fell. “It was me. You saw me.” The realization flooded over her face, “That's why, after, you...”

“No, Felicity, it wasn't you.” He cut her off. “It was me. Not the Arrow, Oliver Queen.” He ran a hand from his forehead through his hair. “I thought that it meant that I had to choose. I could be one or the other, but I couldn't be both. If I chose the Arrow, I was choosing to be alone, I was choosing to once again sacrifice myself, I was choosing for the last time, I was making Oliver Queen my acceptable loss. My final sacrifice.”

“Oliver, that is crazy.” Her anger had slowly turned, and the look she gave him now was shielded concern. “You aren't two different things, two different people. You are Oliver Queen and the Arrow, you aren't the person you were before you left, but you are still Oliver. I see you.”

“I told you that I wasn't always on the Island when I was gone, that I went to Hong Kong, I also spent time in Moscow, and in other places before returning to the island. The first year on the Island I learned how to survive, I learned suspicion, and I learned that in life,you trust very few people, and even when you do that, eventually there is a good chance they will turn on you. I learned to shoot, and to kill if I had to. Hong Kong, Moscow, those places, they turned me into a living, breathing, weapon. I lost pieces of myself all over the world, pieces of my humanity. When I came home, I didn't know what was left besides the mission my father had given me. That mission is what kept me alive, every time I survived when I shouldn't have, I thought that it was because I had to complete the mission he set me on. But I was wrong.” Oliver didn't know where these words were coming from, they just spilled from him in waves. He was purging the demons that haunted him, to the only woman he was scared they would send away.

“How could that be wrong Oliver? You helped so many people, you fixed so many problems. You're a hero.”

“Barry's a hero, I'm a vigilante.” He said quietly, head down, “I was wrong, because I didn't survive everything only to become nothing but a weapon. I have to learn to walk in both worlds, I have to be both, my father didn't just want me to save the city, he wanted me to save myself, to be a better man than he was. I need the people in my life who know my secret. I can't sacrifice Oliver Queen, because he is the only thing keeping me from becoming what I fight. I know now that I am not an acceptable loss.”

“You could never be like that, you don't have it in you.” The worry on her face said what she couldn't, he knew she knew he could do it, she'd seen him on the edge, she'd pulled him back.

“You don't know what I am truly capable of Felicity, you don't know the things that I did before I came home. You don't know how much self control it takes to keep me from succumbing to the darkness in me.” He finished off his glass of wine and poured both of them another. “I thought that by denying myself the one thing I wanted and needed more than anything else that it would be easier to let Oliver go. I thought you'd be safer if I let you go, and it might be, for you. But you, you are one of a handful of people who see me, the real me. And since the first time I saw you, I knew in my bones that I would never be able to let you go. But I am haunted by the fear of dragging you down with me, even though I know you are stronger than I am, that you would never let that happen.”

He could feel the trembling in his hands. His voice cracked. “I made a mistake. I shouldn't have pushed you away. I should have pulled you closer. I love you, and I can't do it from afar. I'm not great at middle ground, I can't sit back and watch you be with someone else, I can't stand the way you don't look at me anymore, the way I have to stop myself from touching you. You're my best friend. I can't not be with you.”

He looked up at her. Her eyes were tear filled, she was biting her lip so hard he was scared that she'd draw blood.  _Casual, relax, breathe._ He let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. “Whew, I think that's the most I've said since I got home. Believe it or not I used to be quite chatty. I guess that might be more believable for you now.”

She sniffled and wiped at the corner of her eye, “I must have gotten something in it, my eye. Because I'm not crying. Just to be clear. That's not what's going on over here.”

“Understood.” He nodded at her. He looked at the food on the table. “I couldn't remember what you ordered, so I got you the chicken Parmesan, but I also got the penne alla vodka, so if you don't want it, there's options.”

“I know what I want.” She said quietly.

He looked down at the food, waiting for her to say something, when he looked up she was next to him. Clearly she had learned something from all of her time with him.

“I want you. I want Christmas, and Italian food, and late nights where I'm scared that you won't come home, and everything about this life.”

He looked at her, eyes heavy, he tilted his head slightly, “Wha?” But before he could finish she was kissing him. Her hands cradled his face and she was kissing him.

Before he could fully react she pulled away. “I love you, and I want the penne.” She smiled at him as she backed away. “Serve me Queen! I'm starving!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That was rough. Soon the wine will kick in... I promise.
> 
> Feedback, as always is fuel for my fire.


	4. A Candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food, fun and something else that starts with F...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! These two crazy kids get their shit together.
> 
> Again, all the thanks to JennyGirl7 for her wisdom and feedback.

“Are you going to finish that?” Oliver pointed at the half full container of pasta.

“No, it's all yours.” She looked at him with a sense of disgusted awe, “I'm starting to understand why I've never seen you eat an entire meal. Like, how much do you eat every day? I remember reading about Michael Phelps and he ate like 6,000 calories a day, and well, there is no way you have more body fat than him. Have you ever eaten an entire animal, in a sitting, because I'm starting to think that is a very real possibility.”

“On the Island there wasn't exactly take-out, so yeah, I've eaten an entire animal, in one sitting.” He smiled goofily at her. It felt good to go back to the way they used to be. It could have been the wine, or the weight lifted off his soul from confession, but Oliver found that he didn't need his mantra. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so relaxed, so at ease.

Felicity picked up the bottle of white wine and began to open it. Oliver shifted to help her.

“I can open a bottle of wine, trust me this is an area of expertise for me. I can't tear a cork out with my bare hands, which I've imagined, I mean suspected that you could do, but I've got this.”

“You've imagined me opening wine?” He asked through his final mouth of penne. After he swallowed he added, “I always took you for having a more active imagination than that.”

She may have blushed. It was hard to tell, the light wasn't ideal, but Oliver could see her purse her lips and look down in that way she did when she was embarrassed.

“Mr. Queen, are you flirting with me?”

“That depends, is it working?” 

The cork popped out of the bottle with perfect timing, and he started to laugh. It was the sort of laugh that caught you off guard. “Well I've never actually made a girl pop her cork before, so I'll take that as a yes.”

She rolled her eyes at him and took a swig out of the bottle. “Come here.” She crooked her finger and gestured for him to come to her. 

He crawled over to her, yes this was going to be good, but she picked up a napkin instead of grabbing him, “You're a mess. I know why you don't eat in public very much.” She wiped the errant sauce off of his chin and handed him the bottle.

“Are you trying to get me drunk Miss Smoak?” He asked before taking a long pull on the bottle.

“That depends, is it working?” She replied, mocking him.

“Don't get smart with me.” 

“But I am smart, it's hard not to get smart with you. I mean, lets face it, I'm the brains of this operation.”  
“Yes you are, but I'm the brawn, you should remember that.”

“It's hard to forget. I mean, you're always shirtless...”

He took another drink from the bottle and passed it back to her. In a second he was on his feet. 

“I'm going to clean this mess up.” He started putting the empty containers into the bag they originally emerged from.

“Seriously? You have a half drunk girl, on the floor in front of a roaring fireplace, and you're going to let your OCD get the best of you?”

He couldn't resist, he wrapped the length of her pony tail around his hand and tugged her head back, he crouched down and whispered in her ear, “What did you think I was planning on for dessert?”

He released her hair and finished packing up the remains of the meal. Her mouth formed an O, but no audible sound came out. 

She stood up, her shoes abandoned before she sat down. He forgot how short she was without them. He was more than a full head taller than her. 

“Please tell me that the bathroom is still in working order.”

“It is.”

“Good. I have to pee like a racehorse. Wine. You know.” He nodded at her, “I don't have your bionic night vision eyes, and this house is dark...”

He dug through his jacket and pulled out a small flashlight and handed it to her.

“Were you a boy scout? What else do you have in that jacket? It's like a damn Swiss Army knife.” She took it from him and walked barefoot down the hall.

He finished tidying up, and added wood to the fire. He took off his shoes and socks and sat in front of the fireplace flexing his feet. He loved being barefoot. It gave him a better sense of the world beneath him.

“OLIVER!” he heard her yell from the hallway.

He was on his feet running to her before he could think.

He found her, standing in the hallway, flashlight pointed to the ground.

“What? What is it?”

“It's not raccoons, but don't think for a second that I didn't check. They are crafty, they have people hands. No, I think the wiring or something is bad, there are scorch marks all over this floor, you should probably have that checked out.”

“You honestly just screamed for me because of some old burns on the floor?” He let out an exasperated laugh.

“Well I don't know how long they've been there, and I don't want this house to burn to the ground, so yeah, I thought it was important.”

“They aren't new, it's a funny story, but one which will have to wait.” He hauled her over his shoulder, “Come on.”

She squealed and kicked her feet, “Put me down!”

“No, and if you keep squirming, I'll just walk slower.” He said turning back to the living room.

And then she did it. She smacked his ass, and not lightly. _So this is how this is going to go._ “I wouldn't do that again.”

“If you let me down I won't.” 

“No.” And then she did it again. “I really think you should heed my warning.”

“Why?”

“Because you've been sticking your ass, in tight skirts and tight pants, in my face for almost three years. Don't think I haven't thought about bringing my hand down on it.”

She giggled. It was the girliest thing he had ever heard come out of Felicity, not that she wasn't ridiculously feminine, but this sound, it was down right dangerous. He felt her shift her weight, but before she had a chance to follow through, his full palm came down on her ass. It was right there, it was too easy. 

The sound reverberated in the hall, a sharp smack. He didn't even put any force into it, but still, _that sound._ “I warned you.” She laughed.

When he got them back to the living room he stopped in front of the fire, and let her slide off his shoulder back to the ground.

They both reached for the wine. “Hands off buddy, ladies first.” 

He stood back and put his hands on hips as she slugged from the bottle. “You are the very definition of class.” He joked.

She handed him the bottle. “I'm in a fancy mansion, with a billionaire playboy, I had to bring a little Smoak charm to this soiree.” He finished it and placed it on the mantel.

And then, he couldn't stop himself. He grabbed her, he looked into her eyes, “Promise me you won't run away this time.”

“I won't if you promise me that this is real.”

“It's real.” Was all he managed before crashing into her. 

When he kissed her in that hospital hallway he knew, _knew,_ he was kissing her goodbye. This time he was kissing her hello, kissing her with a thousand hellos, with the last hello he ever wanted to give to a woman. 

It was fast, her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, she pushed her leg up his thigh and he pulled it up, giving her the leverage to wrap the other around him. She broke the kiss.

“I've wanted to climb you like a tree forever.” She said while gripping him with her thighs. “You are so tall.”

He muffled a laugh into her shoulder before turning and pushing her against the wall. He looked into her eyes, bedroom eyes, if he ever saw them, “Now that's the level of imagination I was talking about.”

He pressed himself against her before once again kissing her. Their mouths pulled and pushed against each other, tongues tangling in a natural rhythm. _Who knew kissing could be this good?_

His hands ran up her ribcage beneath the sweater and blouse. Her skin was as soft as silk, his calloused fingers grazed her skin, and she started laughing.

“Fuck this.” he said as he wrapped his hands under her ass and turned back towards the floor. He kicked the table out of the way, and kneeled on the floor setting her down in front of the fireplace.

“I'm sorry, I'm ticklish, it's a thing.”

“Not that.” Words were harder to get out, his absolute arousal clouding his mind, “I need to be able to see you.” With that he made quick work of the buttons on her sweater and blouse, pushing them off her shoulders. He ran his palm from the base of her stomach up to her neck, _no bra? What else isn't she wearing?_

She tugged on the hem of his shirts, and he pulled them over his head. She ran her hands up his arms, to his shoulders and pulled him to her. “I need to feel you against me.” Crawling onto his lap, she stared at him, ran her hand over his jaw, trailing kisses from his collarbone to his mouth. 

He ran his hands down her back, careful to avoid her ticklish sides, pulling her closer to him, he wanted to absorb her into him, to make her a piece of him so that he never had to let go. The kisses deepened, their intensity increased, and as it did he could feel her grinding against him. He had to stop to get his bearings, to catch his breath, he growled in her ear.

“I bet you wish I was wearing one of those skirts now,” she said breathlessly as she pushed herself against him, reaching her hand between them to unbutton his jeans.

He rolled her to the floor and made quick work of her pants and his own. He hooked a finger beneath the dark forest green undergarments she was wearing, “Nice color.”

“It wasn't on purpose, I own a lot of underpants, a whole rainbow...” She stammered.

“Good, I can't wait to see them all,” was his only response and he ran them down her legs.

And there she was, beneath him, the one person he wanted more than anything in the world. Messy ponytail, and glasses askew, and gloriously naked.

He ran his hands up her thighs, parting them, landing on her hips, longing to dive in, to taste her, to drench himself in her, but he felt her tiny hands circle his wrists and pull. He looked up at her and she shook her head. “No foreplay, we've had over 2 years of foreplay, I've been waiting too long for this.” 

He could see in her eyes that she wasn't lying, all of her innuendo, all of her not-so-Freudian slips, she wanted this just as badly as he did. He grabbed his wallet, and started to pull out a condom.

“I've got an IUD, and I'm good if you're good. I can't remember to take pills, and shots freaks me out, so...”

“Are you sure?”

“If you know you're clean, I'm good.” The trust and love and lust in her eyes, it was almost too much for him to take. 

He wasn't sure how long he'd last without the sensation reduction of a condom, but he also knew that this wasn't a one time thing. 

She pulled him back to her, and kissed him ferociously. She reached between them, and guided him to her entrance. He looked at her, and she gave him a quiet nod, he slowly pushed into her, eliciting a pained gasp, he started to pull out, “Stop, go back, just give me a second, you're bigger than, and well I haven't been in this position, I mean I haven't had,” he stopped her with a kiss. 

“Just tell me when.” 

Slowly she started to move beneath him, and he took it as a sign. He wanted to be careful with her, he didn't need to unleash the full force of his desire on her the first time. He wanted this to be special, he wanted this to linger in his mind, he wanted to savor every second. She was so warm, and slick, and she felt so good, he wanted to pound into her until he saw stars, but he wouldn't he would control himself.

They picked up an easy rhythm a back and forth a give and take. She hitched one leg up on his hip and changed the angle in a way that caught his breath. She was trying to change the pace, to hasten it.

"Oliver, Why are you holding back on me?" She asked never losing a beat.

"What? I'm not" He stopped and held her in place.

"I've seen your browser history, I've seen things. Porn things." She replied, “And I want all of you, and right this second? I want you to fuck my brains out.”

“You're a terrible influence.” He smiled at her, and then smashed his mouth down on hers. He hooked his arm beneath her hitched leg and another under her arm, hand wrapped over her shoulder and started to pick up the speed. Their eyes locked on each other as he set a punishing pace. 

Her breath was growing ragged and she couldn't maintain eye contact. He was close, and she was clearly enjoying herself.

“OL” _push into her_ “IV” _pull out_ “ER” _push in, and fall off the cliff._ He slumped against her, sweat running down his back, his blood pounding in his ears, flashes of golden light, spilling himself into her.

She wrapped her other leg around him, threaded her arms under his, flattening her hands against his back, holding his spasming body to hers. He knew he was crushing her, but she only pulled him tighter against her.

It felt like she held him there, inside of her, forever. When he finally got his wits about him, he felt her relax and rolled off of her onto his back. He rubbed his hands over his face trying to bring himself back to planet earth. Oliver felt her curl herself against him, an arm wrapping over him and her leg claiming ownership of his legs. She lightly traced her fingers over his arm, his chest, his scars, the tattoo, before resting her hand over his heart.

“So that happened.” He said, kissing the top of her head.

“I was right the first time.”

“What?” He looked down at her.

“It was great having you inside of me.”

He laughed, a full bodied, uncontrollable laugh. “God, I love you.”

“Felicity, my name is Felicity, not God.” She mocked him.

“I'm sorry, you didn't...” The realization hit him, she didn't come, he needed to fix that.

“Later, first, I need something to drink.”

He remembered Thea's note, and the last remaining bottle. “I believe I have something from the Queen family reserve that should work.”

He sat up and drank in one final look at her, glowing in the firelight. He kissed her chastely, before getting up and putting on his boxer briefs. He handed her his tee shirt and those beautiful green underthings. 

“Thank You.” He beamed at her.

“For what?” She asked, putting her glasses back on after pulling the shirt over her head.

“For seeing me.” Sincerity dripped off his tongue.

“I couldn't not see you. I mean, do you have any idea how good looking you are?” She snarked.

“You have exactly 5 minutes, and a glass of wine before you get as good as you gave.”

She smiled. “I'll meet you under the Christmas tree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this story is done. Should there be another chapter? It's marked as complete, but that could always change with the right motivation...
> 
> I haven't written smut in a billion years, so your feedback is much appreciated as always.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this story. You guys are the reason this was finished in record time.


End file.
